March 4th, 2015: "If you do not think about your future, you cannot have one." – John Galsworthy


The Stargazer

Ronan prided himself on his clear vision of the stars. He knew all the portents, could predict triumphs and tragedies, and could sense when a hunt would be successful. It had taken a long time to perfect his skills but perfect them he did. There were others in the herd who he knew struggled with this most precious of abilities. The future did not map itself for them. These brethren were hardly Centaurs at all.

So Ronan gazed every night into the heavens thanking the Gods for his gift and watching the steady cogs of time turn. He saw the glimmering of each of the stars, watched as they brightened and dimmed, and knew well beforehand that the days of magic were ebbing. But all of life had an end and all of death had a beginning. It is the way of things. A give and take. An ebb and flow…

"Our future looks bleak, does it not, Ronan?" a soft voice interrupted Ronan's gaze.

Ronan stamped a hoof on the ground furiously, his arms crossed over his broad bare chest. Of all his brethren, he disliked this one the most. Firenze with his gentle gaze, his soft words, his kind heart, and most of all his near-sightedness. Ronan despised his whole being.

"Our future is naught but a murmur in the great expanse, Firenze. It is only the universe that matters; in comparison, all futures are bleak."

"In the long run, I couldn't agree more," Firenze turned hazy blue eyes to the stars. "But the immediate future is pressing. I foresee conflict, change, and convergence."

Ronan scoffed. "These signs always persist. It is a natural part of life."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps these signs will become part of our reality. The heavens are not always clear about which path we should take and if they do affect us, perhaps we ought to begin thinking about our future. What will the herd do if the stars are foreshadowing our own existence?"

"The heavens do not condescend to the level of individual mortals. We are not the center of all that is. We do not predict for ourselves or our own benefit. We merely watch."

"Then we are doomed." Firenze turned, his tail brushing gently against Ronan's flank.

"That is the fate of every living thing," Ronan shot back, making Firenze freeze for a moment before the later trotted away.

Once again Ronan was left to his stargazing, his tail twitching in agitation. Firenze may be a blight on the herd, after all he had let a human child ride on his back like a common work horse, but he had the uncanny ability of reading the present. Humans considered this Divination but the art was one Centaurs had little need of. They were the watchers of the ages, the guardians of knowledge of times yet to come. They would be no more if Firenze was to be believed. His hoof stamped the ground and he turned his head to look over his shoulder. Behind him the herd stood around the fire joking and singing. One had commandeered a lute to accompany the singer.

Ronan huffed and returned his gaze star-wards. Firenze displayed such foolishness; and it seemed to be contagious. The affairs of the living was not their concern. It held no meaning. Fate and Time controlled all, who were mortals to influence them?